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#which is what i say to not terrify myself about how i might always have this scar

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 month

Note

OUUH WHAT ABOUT spencer watching her do her makeup, pick out an outfit, get dolled up to go meet his team

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 498.

a/n: AWW OMG writing this actually gave me cavities. this is probably the fluffiest thing i've ever written on this account!! i really tried to get into the mind of our precious bimbo reader, and i feel like i did a pretty good job if i do say so myself! 😏

You always liked to say that you did your best work under pressure, so why in the hell wasn’t your eyeshadow… eyeshadowing?

You looked at yourself in the vanity mirror, your gloss covered lips turned down into a deep frown. The lines caused by your frustration left behind little creases in your carefully laid foundation. You were one more mishap from a total breakdown.

“Spence?” You turn around in your porcelain white chair that completely contrasts the dark coziness that was Spencer’s room.

Tonight was the night that you were going to meet your boyfriend’s team, which in your mind translated to his family. You had met his mom already, and she liked you, so why were you so intimidated? Maybe it was because these people were like your precious boyfriend just twenty times more terrifying.

Tonight had to go well, or you swear that you might just die!

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer responds from behind the book he had his nose buried in. He had been resting against the headboard, the lower half of his body relaxed and his legs were stretched out carelessly. The advantage of being a human string-bean, you supposed.

“Does my makeup look okay?”

Your exasperated tone in your voice forced his eyes away from the page and onto yours.

He was surprised by the light tones of eyeshadow you had picked, they were a lot different from the bold pink, purples, and blues. That could only mean one thing.

“There’s no need to be anxious, honey. You look beautiful.”

Usually, you were very susceptible to Spencer’s praise, often turning bashful and shy, as well as giggling and grinning like a schoolgirl. Nope, not today. Today felt like not even the sweetest of hymns could bring you down from your anxiety ridden stupor.

“Really? Because I don’t know about the color… I feel like the eyeliner makes it look clumpy.”

Spencer Reid was trained for this, if the hours of cosmetology research he had done counted for something. Why you may ask? Well, the first time you had asked him about your makeup was when you two had first started dating, and it had unfortunately gone a little bit like this:

“Does this look okay?”

“It looks fine, angel.”

“Oh God, I should just start over, shouldn’t I?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Spencer smiles fondly, “It doesn’t look clumpy at all. In fact I think the dark and light colors complement each other well, they make your eyes look large and enchanting.”

And just like that, all of your apprehension melts away. “Oh, good!” You all but cheer.

He watches with a lovesick smile on his face as you pull out outfit-after-outfit from the closet – that’s really more yours than it is his – with an excited grin.

“How about this one?”

Spencer knows he’s in for a long night; with his book long forgotten, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you have an hour before you guys have to leave.

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astraystayyh · 8 months

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Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night… And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you.

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish.

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish.

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved.

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you.

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode.

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his.

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too.

✹✹✹

You are being distant.

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam.

And it's his fault.

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were.

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you.

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you.

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back.

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you.

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features.

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him. "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes.

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you."

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin.

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?"

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad."

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault."

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong.

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you.

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere.

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means.

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you.

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return."

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him.

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his.

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?"

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?"

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too."

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?"

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too."

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace.

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore.

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness.

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known.

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars.

You should've known.

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss.

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him.

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t.

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily.

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him.

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch.

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it."

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest.

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him.

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it."

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking.

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly.

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today."

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination.

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes.

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

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hanjisick · 2 months

Text

yandere!stray kids reaction to … your confession.

warning. this is not how i portray the members of stray kids or how you should either. this is purely for entertainment purposes.

cw. alcohol. implied murder. stalking. kidnapping. manipulation.

bang chan.

it was late at night. he had just taken you out on an ice cream date, and now you both were lingering on the doorstep of your home, trying to make the last few moments last forever.

“i think that i might like you, no, i think this is love, chan.”

his heart raced at the confession, but he didn’t hesitate to reply.

“i love you too, y/n.”

he would go home thinking about this moment, his stomach full of nervous butterflies.

the first thing he would do is clutch the tank top that he had stolen from you in his hands, sniffing the material and thinking back to that beautiful moment.

this was all part of the plan. once you finally loved him, it would be so easy to just take you.

and that’s exactly what he planned to do.

lee know

you would’ve been minho’s girl for long before falling in love with the monster. i mean, how could you love this man? even if he was obsessed with you, to the point of being more than willing to spill blood for you, the thought of loving him was terrifying.

but slowly, through months upon months of losing your mind, it would’ve been while he was cooking dinner for the two of you.

his back was facing you as you sat on top of the counter, swinging your legs back and forth.

something about the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he measured ingredients, or the knife in his hand as he crushed the garlic.

minho caught you staring eventually. “what are you looking at, my love?”

a blush dusted across your cheeks. “you look handsome like this.”

his chopping halted. it would’ve been the first time that you’ve seen him truly flustered since meeting him. “i do?”

“i think i love you.”

changbin

it would be hard to not fall for the only man that you were ever allowed to see.

every day, like a mantra, you were told the same thing: you only need changbin. friends don’t compare to changbin. your family is changbin.

eventually it would’ve been hard to not give into the conditioning.

it was late at night and changbin still wasn’t home. you caught yourself feeling disappointed, looking forward to the one person that you saw in the day.

so when he arrived back home, you couldn’t help but jump up, greeting him at the door.

“i missed you.”

he stood in place for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around you too. “what’s gotten into you, my darling?”

“why were you out so late?”

“i had to take care of some things,” he pulled away, nervously, “and you missed me?”

“of course i did. i love you.”

a wide smile spread across his face. “you love me? really?”

hyunjin

“i can’t believe he’s gone. i loved him so much, i don’t even know what to do with myself now.”

hyunjin rubbed your back soothingly, rocking you back and forth as you let out deep sobs into his shoulder. “i know you loved your friend, he was very kind to you.”

too kind. but you wouldn’t understand that— which is why he had to eliminate him.

“who’s gonna be there for me now? he always knew what to say and do.”

“i will always be right here. always. i can promise that to you.”

after a moment of sniffles, you pulled away slightly, staring at him with your puffy eyes that broke his heart. “i love you, hyunjin.”

“what do you mean?”

“i think i’m in love with you.” you were hysterical from the loss of your friend, not having slept for over 24 hours, and your head fuzzy from crying all day.

he was going to take advantage of that. “i love you too, y/n.”

jisung

the boy had been stalking you for ages. following you to classes, work, home— he knew everything about you at this point.

his first thought when you walked towards him, before he could even process your confession, was that you were so close to him. you had never been this close. he had only seen you from a distance.

the smell of you made him dizzy. he had sniffed your shampoos before, sure, stolen your underwear, bought your perfumes to spray around his house— but this was a whole new level and—

“hello? excuse me?”

he was brought back into reality as you waved your hands in front of his face, the butterflies replaced themselves with shock once you had asked for his number, admitting your feelings for him.

“a crush? me? you?” he stammered.

“i’ve seen you around and i think that you’re very attractive.”

felix

you were drunk out of your mind, right on his lap, dozing off on his shoulder. he was already losing it.

“felix, i think i have a crush on you.”

“what?” he pulled you up to look him in the eyes.

you giggled. “you’re so handsome. i’m so in love with you.”

he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

perhaps you wouldn’t feel the same if you knew how many times his hands have gotten bloody for you, exactly how far his infatuation with you went.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking, lix. tell me.”

instead of telling you his feelings, he decided to show them.

his hand met the back of your neck, leaning in to meet your lips.

seungmin

“i need to be honest.”

“yes?” your friend turned towards you on the couch, “you can tell me anything, y/n.”

“i think i’m in love with you.”

it was like the world had stopped for him.

no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to confess to you once the time was right. he needed to be confident and ready with your favorite flowers and a speech.

“seungmin?”

he couldn’t even respond, his entire face hot from your confession.

“you can tell me if you don’t feel the same way, i hope it doesn’t ruin things between us.”

“no! no!” he stammered out, “i love you too. i’ve loved you forever.”

it took him a moment to gather his thoughts together, “you’re beautiful. i’d love for you to be my girlfriend. i would treat you like a princess, every day of my life.”

now it was your turn to become a mess.

jeongin

it was all an accident.

you meant to send that text to one of your friends.

‘jeongin was so cute today. u should’ve seen him. it took everything in me to not kiss him’

within minutes, he was knocking on your door with the wind knocked out of him.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” your face was red, not even trying to excuse your actions.

“what about me was cute?”

“your hair. it was messy— and your jacket. i loved it. and fuck— i just love you. i have a crush on you, jeongin, you caught me.”

“i’ll wear that damn jacket every single day for you to say that about me.”

“what?” your eyes widened.

“i love you too, y/n.”

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moni-logues · 2 months

Text

Investment

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (Kintsugi couple!)

Genre: slice of life, fluff, established relationship

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Yoongi's tired of his job and terrified of making a change.

Content: no warnings! Just fluffy stuff

A/N: firstly, 'gardening leave' is what happens when, rather than working your notice period, the company pays you NOT to work. Secondly, AHHHH Kintsugi couple is back again. This is truly a drop in the ocean of what I've thought about for them lmao but as someone asked the other day about their future, here is a small glimpse into it!

You heard the door open and close and then Yoongi was immediately curling himself up in your lap.

“You’re late today, baby.”

“I know,” he mumbled, speaking into the fluff of your jumper. “I hate my job.”

You kissed the top of his head. This was not the first time he’d said that. Not even close. He had been saying it more and more frequently over the past few months and you weren’t quite sure what to do about it.

“I made dinner; do you want me to get you some?”

He shook his head again and you stroked his hair as you wondered what might help. A cat climbed up into his lap and you thought that might work but Yoongi barely noticed her.

“I could run you a bath? Do you want a bath?”

There was a second’s hesitation and then he nodded and sighed.

“That sounds nice.”

“Ok, I’ll run you a bath.”

And you moved, to get up, to go and start the task at hand but Yoongi gripped you tighter, a quiet noise of protest leaving his mouth.

“You know I have to get up if you want that bath.”

“Five more minutes.”

So you sat for five more minutes: you stroking Yoongi’s hair, he stroking the cat, and then he did, as promised, let you get up.

“Ok, bath is ready.”

You had done your best: the nicest bubble bath, candles, quiet classical music on in the background (because studies have shown it helps to reduce stress). Yoongi stripped and stepped into the hot water with a hiss; it was probably too hot, but you knew that was how he liked it. As hot as hell. Even hotter.

He sank into the water with a groan and you kissed his forehead before turning to leave. Your exit was stopped by your hand in his, which he would not drop. You turned to him.

“You come here,” he said, pointing to the bath.

“Me, too?”

He nodded, so you stripped as he had only a minute earlier and tentatively, slowly, and carefully lowered yourself into hell’s hot spring. You grimaced but eventually were able to settle, leaning back against Yoongi’s chest, tucking your face into his neck. He kissed your shoulder, once, and then again, and then made his way to your neck and your cheek.

“Would you still love me if I quit my job?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly.

“What if I had no job?”

“I’d still love you.”

“What if I were poor?”

“Still then, too.”

“What if I never got another job ever again?”

“I can support us.”

Yoongi snorted, softly and not unkindly.

“Not here.”

“No,” you conceded. “Not here, but I make more than I did before I moved in and I was supporting myself pretty decently. We could live ok together on just my salary. We’d eat.”

Yoongi’s arms grew tighter around you and he nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“I love you,” he murmured into it.

“I love you, too, baby.”

“I’d never make you do that, you know.”

“I know. But I could. I would.”

He kissed your cheek.

“Do you want to quit your job?” you asked after a few moments’ silence.

Yoongi let the question hang and you didn’t push the issue. You knew he’d been struggling recently. That work wasn’t what it used to be. That he got no satisfaction from it. You saw him lie in bed and stare at the ceiling every morning before he absolutely had to get up. You saw him crawl home at night – never early, never on time, always late – and fall asleep on the sofa. You noticed how much less frequently he was doing the things he liked to. You noticed he wasn’t eating so much. You worried about it, but you didn’t know how to help. Because you felt sure that what he needed was to quit and you weren’t sure if he could.

That job had been his lifeline. His everything. It had been his way out. It had made him. He didn’t know what to do without it. Didn’t know how he would survive – except that, of course, he did know. He knew he would be fine. More than fine. He was smart and sensible and had a financial advisor who was worth every one of the many, many pennies he cost. If he were really smart about it, he probably could never work again.

But he still didn’t know how he would quit his job. His whole life he had dreamt of it. His whole life worked towards it. He was good at it. Great, even. He was well-respected. He was successful. He didn’t know what he would do if he failed. He didn’t know if quitting was failure. He saw his teenage self, his lost, lonely 18-year-old self arriving in Seoul for the first time with nothing but a rucksack and a heart full of terror and he saw that self curse at him for even considering handing in his notice.

It made him feel ungrateful. It made him feel arrogant. It made him look at his colleagues with something closer to contempt than it had ever been. Made him look at himself that way, too.

His therapist, Joan, the one he liked, the Australian in her mid-fifties who had studied abroad in Korea, met a man, and then lived here ever since, had asked him to talk to you about it. About quitting. Because you were part of his fear, too. What would you think if he quit? What if he couldn’t get another job? What if he lost all his money? Would you still respect him for being a quitter? Would you still want him if he couldn’t provide? How would you ever be able to marry and have children with him if he couldn’t support you?

He squeezed you tighter and kissed you, reminding himself that you were there. Reminding himself of the person you were. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave. He knew you would love him. He really did know it, but there was doubt deep in his heart that wouldn’t leave him.

You had let Yoongi lead the conversation on his job because you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. It felt too big, too significant to dare risk putting your foot in it. But then, you usually did just that; you would usually say anything, everything, to Yoongi. This felt like an exception because it went so far back into his past and so far down into the depths of his soul.

Maybe that actually made it all the more important that you dragged it to light.

“Ok,” you said, sitting up a little and twisting to look at him. “What would you do if you quit?”

He shrugged.

“Would it make you feel more confident about quitting if you had a plan?”

Yoongi shrugged again. Because he did have a plan. Or not so much a plan, but an idea. Something he’d thought about, been thinking about. Something he might want to do. Something that scared the shit out of him. He was still thinking, though; he didn’t know if he was ready to tell you.

“Well, if you want to try to make a plan, you know I’m here. And if you don’t want a plan, that’s ok, too. I want whatever you want, remember?”

You leant forward and kissed him lightly, twice, and then a third time because you just couldn’t help yourself.

“I’m on your side, baby,” you whispered, lips still close to his. “I’m always on your side.”

You lay next to Yoongi, later that night, bath water cooled, bodies dried, bed-ready. You were thinking about the day Yoongi might quit his job—what you could do for him, what he might want, how he might feel. He interrupted your thoughts.

“I might want to be a counsellor.”

You waited a second to absorb it, to bring your mind back around. It seemed obvious, now he had said it. Of course. Of course, that was what he would be. What he would do. How perfect for him.

“A counsellor? I think you’d be an amazing counsellor.”

“You do?”

You pushed yourself up so you could look at him, even though you could barely see a thing in the darkness. You used your hand to guide you, resting it against his cheek, fingers gently brushing hair from his brow.

“Yeah, I do. I think that’s a great idea.”

He hummed and you felt him nod.

“How would you do it? How do you qualify for that?”

There was the rub. That was the other reason he hadn’t wanted to say it. Because it would take years. He could do an accelerated course, so he’d qualify in two rather than four, but he didn’t know how long after that it would take him to make money, to be stable, secure.

The thing was that he wanted to marry you. Had been thinking about it. Had been trying to not want to quit his job so that he could just do it, ask you already. He wanted to marry you and stay happily in his job for the rest of his life so he could provide for you and however many kids you might or might not have; he wanted to ensure that they would be safe and secure, that you would be safe and secure. He could do that if he stayed in his job. He didn’t know if he could do it if he didn’t. And he didn’t want to propose to you under false pretences; didn’t want to propose while he earnt good money and then quit, then earn next to nothing, trap you into life with him when he didn’t know what he could give you.

That was why he hadn’t quit yet. That was the excuse he was giving himself. That was what Joan had really wanted Yoongi to talk to you about. Because when she had asked how you would feel if you knew these were Yoongi’s concerns, he answered. He knew the answers already. Joan thought hearing them from the horse’s mouth might help. She was probably right.

But he still didn’t want to ask you because he was scared of asking. Scared of raising the topic of marriage in case you didn’t want it.

That was why he couldn’t quit his job.

“It would take a couple of years,” he answered eventually. “I’d have to go back to university. To qualify. Not sure how long it would take after that to get established, to make good money.”

“You don’t have to make good money. I told you: I can support us.”

“And I told you I would never make you do that.”

There was an edge to his voice, an anger you knew wasn’t really directed at you. You let this one slide because you knew that even talking about quitting his job, doing something else, was hard enough for him.

“I have passive income,” he continued, voice softer, “and savings. It won’t be on you.”

“I don’t want you to use your savings, though.”

“That’s what they’re for.”

“You shouldn’t use them up if you don’t have to. I said I’m on your side and that means we’re a team, ok? Be a team with me. Let me help. I let you help me by not paying rent here, don’t I? Let me help you not use your savings.”

Because that was how you got through to him. You reminded him that you were in this together, that this was supposed to be about giving and taking, not just him giving and giving and giving. You wanted to give, too, and Yoongi liked giving you what you wanted.

“Well it’s not like it’s happening anyway,” he said. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. I really think you should do this. It sounds so good. It would be so exciting.”

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the features of his face, allowing you to dip your head and kiss him.

“I know you hate your job, baby, and I want you to be happy. You deserve it. You deserve the opportunity to find out if there’s something else out there you can do. I think you can do it. And I’m always, always going to be here for you, no matter what happens. Promise.”

It didn’t come up again for a while and you didn’t raise it, leaving the ball in Yoongi’s court. Besides, he had seemed lighter since your conversation—like even discussing the possibility of something else was enough to lighten the load a little. You did your own research, looking at schools and trying to find out what he’d need and when, but you weren’t sure how much research he’d done, whether he knew what course he wanted to apply for, whether he’d applied for it already.

You decided to give him another couple of weeks. There would still be time after that for the application deadlines you’d seen (if they were even the right ones). It would give him a little more time to bring it up again. And if he didn’t, you would.

You leant heavily on the door handle as you opened it, tired from work, hungry, so, so ready for the weekend: a weekend in which you would lie down a lot and do little else, you hoped. You kicked your shoes off and two cats came skittering towards you. Then human feet appeared behind them and you looked up in shock.

“Baby!”

You leapt into Yoongi’s arms with a little too much force and he staggered back, laughing, holding you tight. He span you around in the air just once and you tottered on your feet when he placed you back down.

“You’re here! You’re- you’re early!”

He grinned and nodded.

“Yes and I’m making dinner.”

You kissed him hungrily, fingers tightly wound in his hair.

It had been so long since Yoongi had beaten you home from work that you couldn’t even remember the last time. Even longer still had it been since you’d seen Yoongi this happy on a work day.

You both walked to the kitchen and Yoongi poured you some wine. You hopped up on a bar stool and refused to let him go back to cooking; you wrapped your legs and arms around him and kissed him, relieved and excited and so damn happy to have him there, then, at that moment.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he pulled back from you and it sent a spark down your spine, woke the butterflies in your stomach.

“I quit my job.”

You gasped, your mouth open wide.

“No way!”

He nodded. You squealed with laughter, pulling him close, holding him tight, then letting him go to pepper kisses all over his face.

“You quit!”

He looked happy about it, sparkling, glowing, radiant even. He grinned at you until it faltered, a second of doubt passing over his face like a cloud.

“I should have told you,” he said, brow creasing. “We should have discussed it-“

You knew, though you couldn’t see them under his hair, that the tips of his ears were going red. You kissed him, cut him off mid-word.

“I like surprises,” you told him. “And I’m so happy for you.”

You brought your lips to his again, hoping to kiss him for long enough for his doubt to fade and pure joy to return.

“Does this mean you’ll be home on time now?”

He nodded.

“I’m enforcing working hours,” he told you, “not working whatever hours they ask.”

“Can you do that?”

“What are they going to do, fire me? I already quit. And if they want to put me on gardening leave, even better.”

He shrugged with a cavalier smirk.

He may have looked confident, but Yoongi’s heart was hammering in his chest, had been all day. He wondered when it would give out from the stress. He’d blocked out his entire morning for an ‘urgent, top priority’ problem: he sat in his office for three hours trying to get it together so he could go to his boss and hand in his notice. He hadn’t told anyone he was going to do it. He couldn’t take the pressure of anyone else knowing, though now, in hindsight, he wished he had told you (even if you did love surprises and even if he did love the glee on your face when he’d told you). Somehow, even after all this time, he was still not used to the fact that he didn’t have to do everything on his own. That he shouldn’t be doing things on his own. That he preferred doing them with you.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours, his heart now hammering and fit to burst, pressing against his ribs as if it could break them. He was terrified. There was a pit of anxiety in his gut that felt endless, that made him unsure if he would be able to eat the dinner he was halfway through cooking. But he had you. In his life, in his heart, in his hands, on a stool in the kitchen of the apartment where you both lived. You knew he could do it. He wouldn’t let you be wrong.

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi fluff #bts fluff

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drdemonprince · 1 month

Note

Your post about "transitioning to escape gender but then there's more gender" has been rotating furiously in my mind since I saw it. When I first realized I was trans at age 15, I identified as agender, but I knew I wanted to go on T and get top surgery so I decided it would be simpler to tell everyone I was a trans man and that just kind of became the truth. Now 10 years later I'm sorta starting to feel like I wanna actually be agender again, but the idea of an identity shift like that at my current age is terrifying and idek who I'd tell, or how I'd do it, and I don't think I wanna stop using he/him exclusively, and I have no idea why I'm telling *you* this other than that I'm scared to talk to anyone I know about it because it feels like somehow admitting that I was wrong about the gender I fought like hell to become, even though i don't really think that's the case I think my sense of self might just be continuously evolving... but I just wanna say you talking about having a gender shift like once every several years is helping me process this rn and feel like I'm not faking anything now AND wasn't faking anything before.

Dog i am right there with you. As a kid I always thought gender was bullshit, the coercive nature of it disgusted and scared me and I rebelled against it the best that I could. I loathed being assigned to any gender category, I never identified as a "girl", but I didn't really identify with any other category either. Puberty terrified me (and of course, it does most young people, but it felt like it would only more deeply entrench the category that I was assigned to in other people's minds, it made it more difficult to escape). I had trans friends as a teen but it did not occur to me to transition because there was really no end goal that I wanted to head toward, I just knew what I wanted to avoid and not experience. I coped mostly by degendering my body with a fairly androgynous style and way of presenting myself to the word and mannerisms, but also by starving myself which was not so great, and not sustainable. I considered transness for myself, even trying on a friend's binder and presenting masculinely at certain queer events, but it seemed to me at the time like just another way in which to obsess over gender, a foolish coercive socially constructed thing that i was trying to avoid.

In my 20s, I learned more about nonbinary people and figured that explained things pretty well. I was enamored with the transition journeys of some other trans people, largely trans women more than trans masculine ones (with some trans-effeminate faggot boy exceptions), but I still didn't want to take on all the expense and uncertainty and hassle of navigating the medical system for myself. I didn't think that the pursuit of being happy merited taking on so many risks or fiddling with myself so much. I saw it as an extravagance I didn't deserve, I guess, and I also couldn't locate a target outcome that seemed desirable enough for me. I was still dealing with an eating disorder and recovering from some trauma and didn't really think about my life in the long term. I guess I still don't, haha, whoops.

Eventually I came out as nonbinary, and nobody really gave a shit. There is a lot of useless, solidarity-breaking discourse that happens online about essentially who is "more" oppressed, binary trans people or nonbinary people, and a lot of that fight amounts to the two groups shouting about the ways in which they annoy one another without there being any cogent analysis of power and where oppression comes from (let alone how much those two categories overlap).

But I will say that being a they/them was far more difficult than being a trans guy socially and institutionally, because your identity is completely illegible to every system around you. "binary" trans people struggle under this too, but i have found there are some immense benefits to having a socially and institutionally legible target gender. nobody would fucking actually they/them me. not anyone. not even other trans people and queer people. there were no public gendered spaces for me. there were no spaces for me. there was no way to move through the medical system, professional life, and other public institutions as a nonbinary person. i was still just a cis woman in everyone's eyes. including the people who claimed to support me. and it was massively frustrating.

and so i think ultimately, i took my frustrations with not being at all able to escape coerced gendering as a nonbinary person and combined that with the affinity i do feel for queer men and the general sense of misery i was still experiencing in my life and decided what the hell, i'll round myself up to being a trans guy. i upped my T dose, i dressed more masculinely, i eventually got a super masculine hair cut that really squared off my jawline and got me gendered correctly, and i started more consciously inhabiting queer men's spaces.

and it was pretty dope. for a while. i felt the rush of having gotten away with something. when people effortlessly gendered as male i felt freed at last from the pressure to be a woman. i was no longer being coerced into being something that i was not. i had escaped the enforced category so much that people couldn't even see the history of that category being pushed onto me. there was relief.

but then. as always happens. people made little comments about my handshake being too weak for a man. the hypermasc dudes at the leather bar rolled their eyes at me and all the other effeminate dudes swanning around the bar. the people who picked me up off the apps or at the sauna would always let it slip, eventually, that they had a lot of experience with trans guys, or had most recently been dating all trans guys, and it would make me feel like a stock character to them, yet another category into which all kinds of assumptions had been projected. a type not a person. a few people said my haircut made me look like i was in the military or described me as actually masculine, which was equally jarring because it was so incorrect. people tried to affirm me by saying i was such a dude, i was such a man, i was such a fag, i was such a gay bro, pawing all over me leaving the mark of all their assumptions and oversimplifications behind. i had tried to run away from gender and there i was just BASTING all the time in everybody's goddamn assumptions about gender. trans people didn't talk about it any less than cis people did, they were just as fucking confining to be around.

it honestly feels really dirty. when people try to affirm your gender constantly and can't stop talking about it, when people look past you and see only your body, your history, or the role they have typecast you in, when people use your body as an outlet for their own gender or sexuality explorations, when they keep trying to measure every single facet of existence up into being masculine or being feminine or being toppy or bottomy or any other gendered type, it's claustrophobic.

as a trans man i tried playing this whole gender game and the second i started winning i began to feel even more disgusted with myself. it wasn't a victory or an escape, it was a capitulation. exploring with my identity and presentation has brought positive things into my life and my health has gotten better as a result, and i've made wonderful friends who, like me, are disaffected by this coercive gendering system. so i don't regret any of that. but trying to make myself legible under the existing gendered system was a fool's fucking errand. i wish i hadnt done it to myself and i wish i hadnt had it pushed onto me. to be clear, it was cissexist, binarist society that forced it onto me; even when other queer people coated me in their gendered assumptions that is obviously a byproduct of societal conditioning, and it's conditioning that ive reinforced in my own behavior and outlook toward others plenty of times too. we all do it, and we are all wronged by the existing coercive gender system.

i dont even care how i fucking identify anymore and i have no intention of changing pronouns again or anything, i'm so bored of it, i just actually want off this fucking thing. im not interested in trying to make others understand what i am anymore or in who i am even being simply categorizable, i dont want to obsess anymore over how i am perceived or to attempt engineer my appearance and mannerisms to broadcast an identity to anyone. i dont even want to fuck anybody right now at all because im so sick of how much that's a gender pantomime for people. i want off this fuckin ride man im so done.

it's kind of freeing, to hit this point of complete gender apathy, and i think it is a pretty common stage of identity development for a lot of queer people who have explored multiple identities and roles over time. there is no category that i actually am, or that anyone is, there are just the frameworks that society has given us to work with to understand ourselves, and the ways in which we flatten who we are to be able to make sense of the world using those frameworks. but who i actually am is so much more contextual and mutable than all that. i am a different person in the classroom than i am on the train platform than i am in the bedroom than i am cuddling on the couch than i am when i'm working out than i am when curled up on the floor crying than i am at a big furry convention. who i am continues to change as new people come in and out of my life and age and change and my body alters and as the weather turns. who fuckin knows man it's nothing and everything. i want to let it just be

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reythenerdypisces · 2 months

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things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 2: Sea of Monsters

there is a lot this time.

this book is so short and it makes up for the length by being hilarious:

I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if I were ever on the verge of death - plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp.

Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture. Chiron turned looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"

"Um..." I said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about it? Nobody answered. "Right," I muttered. "Just checking."

"Uh, I like Hercules." "Why?" "Well, because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better."

Annabeth looked at me. "We have to get out of here." "You think I want to be in the girls' restroom?" "I mean the ship, Percy! We have to get off the ship."

Tyson was terrified of them. All throughout the tour, he insisted Annabeth hold his hand, which she didn't look too thrilled about.

"Then why do the gods even let me live? It would be safer to kill me." "You're right." "Thanks a lot."

A minute later, Annabeth hit a slippery patch of moss and her foot slipped. Fortunately, she found something else to put it against. Unfortunately, that something was my face.

As Luke was raising his sword to rally his troops, a centaur shot a custom-made arrow with a leather boxing glove on the end. It smacked Luke in the face and sent him crashing into the swimming pool. and a few moments later: He [Luke] raised his sword, but got smacked in the face with another boxing glove arrow, and sat down hard in a deck chair. Luke can't catch a break from those boxing arrows, it's the funniest thing

2. also so much baby percabeth!! they’re so cute

She'd [Annabeth] emailed me the picture after spring break, and every once in a while I'd look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn't just been in my imagination. the fact that he printed out Annabeth's photo?

Annabeth punched him in the nose and knocked him flat, "And you," she told him, "lay off my friend." her standing up for Percy is adorable

I mean she [Annabeth] looked good. Really good. I probably would've been tongue-tied if I could say anything except reet, reet, reet.

She [Annabeth] started to sob - I mean horrible, heartbroken sobbing. She put her head on my shoulder and I held her. Fish gathered to look at us - a school of barracudas, some curious marlins. Scram! I told them. They swam off, but I could tell they went reluctantly. I swear I understood their intentions. They were about to start rumours flying around the sea about the son of Poseidon and some girl at the bottom of Siren Bay. number 1. the way percy is always there for her, number 2. the gossiping fish?? I love it

The look in his [Grover] eyes told me something was terribly wrong. Annabeth had been on guard duty that night, protecting the Fleece. If something had happened -he’s admirably protective, of not just annabeth, but all his friends and I love to see it… exhibit b:

"But if I [Grover] get in trouble again, you'll be in danger, Percy! You could die!" "If you get in trouble again, I want to know about it. And I'll come help you again G-man. I wouldn't have it any other way." I adore their friendship.

3. other mentions:

"I'm Thalia," the girl said. "Daughter of Zeus." what. an. ending. I still remember how floored I was when I first read this wow

the mention of Hylla got me so excited

am I the only one who forgot Percy could control the sailboat? like the flying ropes and whatnot

I also completely forgot about his watch shield!

I'll be back for part 3 shortly! :)

#sea of monsters #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo series #rick riordan #percabeth #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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loomislover · 10 months

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Puppy dog eyes ✧˖*

ethan Landry x innocent girly fem reader

in which the reader finds herself falling for someone she shouldn’t be .

tw: swearing, smut eventually, death , murder , loss of innocence, chad x reader ( kinda ) , cheating and more ! ( let me know what I forgot ) !! :) 🎀 thank you for reading

I don’t own scream or any characters mentioned! Thank you !! ( this is my first time writing ever please be patient with me !)

part 2 <3

The news of what had happened last night hadn’t completely settled in yet and after hearing what happened to Sam and Tara at the bodega you were only more horrified. “ I mean come on that asshole deserved it . you should of seen him last night “ chad says scoffing . “ still he didn’t have to die chad , he probably had a family who loved him” you say looking down . “ come on y/n your to nice , if that was me I wouldn’t care that Micheal was dead” Anika says shrugging looking over to where you sat between Ethan and Tara at the benches outside of the school . “ Chad and Anika are right y/n he had that coming to him” ethan says in response shrugging when you look at him with wide eyes do to the fact he would normally always take your side . “Alright nerds listen up” Mindy says standing up clapping her hands to draw your attention to her . “ as terrifying as this all is I’m actually glad I have a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time” Mindy says looking down referring to what had happened to them back in woodsboro . “ oh god here she goes “ chad sighs . You ,Ethan , quinn and Anika look at each other than at him confused before mindy continues her speech about how your all in a franchise. “ any of us could go at any time, especially Sam and tara .” Mindy sighs as your eyes immediately dart to the sisters. The thought of losing them makes your heart feel heavy and a unfamiliar fear lurks in your chest. “W-wait any of us ?” Ethan ask tilting his head . “ yeah” mindy says like it’s obvious before Ethan continues “ wait , am I in the friend group ?” Ethan asks raising his eye brows . “Yeah” Mindy reply’s again before Ethan says “ Am I like one of the targets- am I gonna die a virgin?” Your eyes widen at this as you both look at each other at the same time his eyes wide too. You never really thought about it like that . I mean sure it was something you wanted to do eventually but you just figured you’d do it when the time felt right . Who knew you might die before you ever got the chance to. You look to chad thinking of all the times something was about to happen between you two even something small and you just couldn’t do it something just felt wrong. “ that was a weird over share” Mindy says breaking your train of thought before she continued on “ but it brings us to our current suspects” Mindy says before turning to Ethan . “Ethan the shy dorky guy who no one suspects cause he’s so shy and dorky” . your eyes practically bulge out of your head at this . You look at her in shock “ ethan !?” You say in suprise . “Why’s he on the suspect list ? He hasnt done anything wrong” you say gesturing towards him as everyone raises an eyebrow at how defensive your being . “ yeah why am I ? cause I’m randomly chads roommate ?” Ethan says gesturing towards your boyfriend. “Roommate lottery’s can be juked , you could have fixed it to get next to us” Mindy says as ethan rolls his eyes and looks to you shrugging. “y/n !” Mindy continues looking at you now and your eyes widen . “Me!?” You say as she continues “ y/n ,y/n , y/n the sweet innocent girl who always sees the best in everyone… or is that just an act” she says and you can’t believe she would actually think it could even possibly be you . “ I mean Micheal is dead and you were pretty quick to defending ethan.” Mindy shrugs before continuing with the rest of her suspect list .

you sigh before sitting down next to Anika on sams couch . Sam coming in setting down pillows and blankets for you two so you could spend the night before going into the kitchen with chad, tara and Mindy . Everyone was here except Ethan he had left earlier but other than that Sam insisted on safety in numbers so you were all together . “this is all so crazy , the killings and ghost face” Anika says looking at you as you smile “ I know it’s so weird cause I actually used to love the stab movies me and my dad used to watch them“ you say looking down . “Stu was always my favorite” Anika says playfully nudging you and you smile admiring and appreciating your best friend as she was the one who introduced you to the rest of the group in the first place and you would forever be grateful for that . “Billy was mine” you say giggling “ a lot more weird tho when you find out he’s your friends dad” you say trying to make light of the situation . Anika smiles at you “ yeah I suppose it is pretty weird” she laughs and it seems for a moment everything in your life is gonna be fine , your all gonna be ok , but you know thats all to good to be true. And it is cause now You hear a bang come from Quinn’s bedroom door and you both jolt up from the couch and everyone else rushes into the living room it doesn’t feel real. The banging seemingly stops as chad steps in front of tara ,you look at him for a split second before thinking back to what Ethan had said the night before . But It didn’t matter now all that mattered was getting out alive. You push your self in-front of Anika and before she even has time to protest mindy screams “run!”. Quinn’s bedroom door bursts open in a thunderous jolt and Quinn’s body flys out in front of you . Everyone screams and you , Sam , mindy and Anika all stumble back as tara and chad run . “ guys come on” Tara screams as she runs out the door . But it’s to late ghostface is already upon you. “ oh fuck!” Mindy says as ghostface tilts his head tauntingly before running towards her and slashing her shoulder . As she screams out in pain ghostface looks to you and Anika . Everyone’s screaming and Sam is crying out to you to run as Anika crys for mindy . Everything goes fuzzy when ghostface grabs you by the back of your neck and all you can do now is close your eyes and wait for the pain. But it never comes you open your eyes as ghostface throws you aside roughly towards Sam and goes for Anika . You scream in horror and confusion as he grabs Anika throwing her down and wrapping his hands around her neck . “Y/n come on!” Sam says while yanking you up by your wrist . You both run into the kitchen and sam runs for a knife but there isn’t any . Someone took them , someone knew this would happen . You both look to each other in whore before both looking to the living room as Anika screams a blood curdling scream of pain. Sam thinks fast and grabs the wooden block the knifes once were. And all you can do now is put up the best fight you can.

You open you eyes head throbbing and mind foggy as you look around. Your laying on Quinn’s bedroom floor but there’s no more screaming and sunlight is streaming in through the window . You look down to your hands that are covered in blood but you know that it’s not your own . The door burst open and your surrounded but various paramedics and cops one you recognize as Quinn’s father. And that’s when the memories come flooding back. “What happened? Where are my friends? Where’s ghostface?” So many questions come from your mouth as a paramedic leans down to help you up. “ calm down y/n it’s ok just take a deep breath.” He say desperately trying to calm you . “Are you alright” he asks and you nod slowly. “ please just take me to my friends.” You say quietly.

Once you make it outside with the help of some paramedics you insisted you didn’t need you immediately lock eyes with Sam someone you beli d to be her boyfriend standing behind her . You run over and she wraps her arms around you . “Y/n your ok!” She says pulling you closer before letting go as you pull away . “ yeah something like that” you say playfully sniffling. “What happened to me last night ?” You say curious as to why you woke up alone in Quinn’s room. “ when ghostface got into Quinn’s room he pushed you out of the way to get to the window we were climbing out of” she pauses “when he pushed you you must have hit your head and passed out” she says and you don’t understand why he hadn’t killed you. You brush it off figuring there was no point in trying to make sense of it as You look behind her to only see tara, mindy and chad . “W-Where’s Anika” you choke out tears threatening to spill as you lock as with Mindy and the look on her face tells you everything you need to know. “ oh mindy” you say tears rolling down your cheeks as she hugs you before pulling away . “Chad” you hear the voice of Ethan as you turn around to see him walking closer to you . Chad runs over and grabs him roughly by his jacket. “Where were you last night” he yells at ethan . “ I had Econ you now this” ethan says defensively. you run over “chad stop let go of him” you yell pushing chad . “What’s your problem y/n he was the only one not there last night!” Chad says looking at you. “he disappears and Tara and my sister almost get killed” he says breathing heavy. “ dude I was in a study hall with 100 other people as any of them” ethan interrupts . “Fuck man” chad says before walking back to mindy and Tara . You look at Ethan tears still left on your face. Ethan hugs you tightly as he rest his head on your shoulder. “What’s wrong baby” he asks a hand stroking your hair. “Anika she’s dead” you Choke out ignoring his odd actions as another tear Rolls down your cheek and you pull away from him. Ethan walks over to Mindy and you follow “ mindy I’m so sorry” he says “step the fuck back” she Says looking at him like he’s a killer. “what is wrong with you guys ?” You say defending ethan once again “ he had Econ ! he’s done nothing wrong” you say gesturing towards him . “Why do you keep defending him?” Chad asks in response raising an eyebrow. “ he’s my friend!? And he’s yours too” you say to chad disbelief in your tone. “ yeah a friend” chad scoffs rolling his eyes . “More than I can say for you and Tara” you shout and you can’t believe you said it as everyones eyes widen. “ your crazy” chad says shaking his head in disbelief. “Whatever I’ll see you guys later” you say another tear rolling off your cheek as you walk away head hanging low half wishing chad would chase after you. And for a moment you think he does when you feel a hand on your shoulder but when you turn you see Ethan and he begins to walk away with you. “ hey I’m sorry about all that” Ethan says puppy dog eyes looking into your innocent ones pitifully. “Yeah it’s ok” you say looking back down . “Hey maybe you can come back to my dorm with me and I can cheer you up” he says looking at you with that same sweet look he always has but there’s something strange about it this time . Something else lurks behind his brown eyes…

an: I’m so sorry this is so long I was having so much fun writing this fr . thank you for 100 likes on part one and 10 followers I appreciate it ! :) 🎀 lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for the next parts !

tags ✧˖*: @iloveneilperry

#ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream 6 #ghostface #chad meeks martin

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dumplingsjinson · 7 months

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Hi! I checked the masterlist and unless I missed it, I don't think I saw it so, how about something that's like

"you scare me but that's why you attract me" ?

List of “you scare the shit out of me but, uh, real talk? that’s what draws me to you” prompts

“I feel like they’d murder me, ya know? Which is what makes them so… I don’t know, attractive?” “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“You’re intimidating.” “What about me is intimidating?” “Literally everything. Maybe I like playing with fire, and maybe that’s exactly why I like you.”

“You could possibly be murdered and thrown into a river, your body never to be found again. Is that really what you want?” “…I mean, that sounds hella sexy, the part where they’re even strong enough to do that to me in the first place—”

“You’ve got a loose screw somewhere there, bud.” “I know, I know, but I can’t help it, you know? They just… Have this thing about them.”

“How can you be attracted to someone who looks like a threat to society?” “First of all, I don’t know. Second of all, you’re being overdramatic. Third of all, I just like them, okay?”

“Oh, keep doing that.” “Doing what?” “Keep being terrifying. I fucking love it.”

“I’ve always loved scary things.”

“I mean, I’m always up for an adventure… Even if it means I might end up putting myself in danger.”

“I mean… Like they say, curiousity killed the cat. In my instance though, I won’t actually die but it’ll definitely scar me. Doesn’t matter though, because I like the thrill of it all.”

“You could easily fuck me over but that’s what makes this the more exciting.” “You’re insane.”

#writing prompts #prompts #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #request

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scoobydoodean · 8 months

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ppl get mad when dean’s “love” is “conditional”

but don’t blink when others erect “healthy boundaries” and “respectful expectations”

do you think dean is expected to be this idea of perfect, unconditional love in ways other characters are not?

thx

Hey anon sorry it took me a while to circle back to this! I was trying to find a related post for you but I never found it. :(

I don't know if most people expect Dean to be perfect, but I do believe that without realizing it, a lot of people hold Dean to very unreasonable standards and don't believe he deserves boundaries of any kind—including regarding his own feelings. For example,

Dean is often demonized for not trusting people immediately after they have broken his trust (ex: 4.21, 5.02, 5.05, 6.20) in a way fandom would never demonize Sam or Cas for not trusting Dean after Dean lied to them.

Dean is often criticized for not "opening up" to Sam. Not only is Dean under zero obligation to use Sam as a confidant, but the expectation always seems to be that Dean become "ready" to talk on Sam's timeline, and anything outside of what Sam considers to be an acceptable timeline is criticized by Sam and fandom from some cringe pop psychology perspective on emotional health (2.02, 4.09, 13.04). Sam, on the other hand, is never treated as if he is obligated to open up to Dean, and the countless times he says he doesn't want to talk are immediately dismissed as normal and his boundaries are treated with respect.

Dean was criticized by fandom immediately in season 13 for not parenting Jack correctly and not "being there" for Sam. Dean was very clear that he didn't want to be Jack's mother. Dean was under zero moral obligation, at any point, to adopt Jack and treat him as a son. However, portions of fandom consistently—from 13.01—insisted on judging Dean based on a poor "parenting" performance to someone who was not his kid, and who he explicitly stated he did not want parent. Many fans did and still do criticize Dean for not immediately setting aside his grief over Mary, Cas, and Crowley and joyfully accepting a parenting role over someone he had every reason to believe brainwashed his best friend which lead to his demise. (I say all of this separately from how Dean treated Jack as a house guest).

Dean is expected to forgive Sam and Cas on their timelines (season 5, season 15) but if they are angry at Dean, any length of time they might choose to hold things against him—including indefinitely—is justified and often applauded. In fact, you would often find—especially with Sam—fans over and over cheering Sam on for "standing up for himself finally" as if every time of the dozens of times he did that, it was the first time.

Dean is very popularly demonized for not forgiving Jack for murdering his mother. Jack can kill Mary because he was "scared" or "mad" and that's fine but Dean having a single feeling about it is out of line to this fandom. (As an aside—no—I don't think soulless Jack killing Mary was an accident based on how soulless!Jack described it... but either way it doesn't matter when it comes to how Dean is allowed to feel about it.) Mere hours after the incident occurs, Dean is expected to be flowering Jack with love and forgiveness, and the fact that he didn't makes Dean a monster.

Dean is demonized for putting Jack in the mal'ak box and when the episode aired (and again—continuing to this day within the fandom) it was framed by and large as if Dean was the sole perpetrator of that act, while Sam's role was brushed under the rug or fans straight up insisted Dean somehow "forced" Sam to go along with him (despite Sam very clearly being fucking terrified of Jack). Cas, a single episode later, enquiring about putting Jack in The Cage is also completely dismissed. Nobody gives a single fuck.

Dean saying (he thinks privately to Sam) he doesn't consider Jack family after what happened with Mary. I'll make myself abundantly clear: Dean has every right to feel this way. And let's be real—if Sam said he didn't see Jack as family, almost nobody would give a fuck... which goes for everything on this list?

Which brings me to the why of this ask.

Part of the reason Dean is held to different standards is down to some of fandom's desperate need to perpetuate Dean's childhood parentification by holding him responsible for everyone in his life. Because Dean is Mr. Parentified Child, he MUST accept Jack as his child because that's who Dean is—a defacto parent to everyone in his life, destined to be treated like the universe's mommy and then judged for doing a bad job at a task he does not have the power or authority to handle as if he did have that power and authority... and if he complains he's a selfish, cruel, evil monster.

Another reason is Dean's overarching role in the story, as the narrative heart and the hearth of the house. You cannot miss, in SPN, how central Dean is to the concept of belonging somewhere—of having a home—of being loved. I've said before that Dean's love is practically regarded as a human right in Supernatural. Dean really represents the idea of being loved at all—the intrinsic human need to be loved and accepted by others.

Sam or Cas could say they don't love someone, and it would just be taken as a personal opinion with no greater weight or significance. If Dean says he doesn't love someone, that carries a very special meaning to the fans and has a very special impact on the character who hears it. And while it may hurt another character to hear that from Dean... it also is not fair, in any sense of the word, to treat Dean's love as something everyone is entitled to—to deny his personhood and autono-[gunshots]—to act as if he is obligated to force himself to love everyone—as if that wasn't deeply unfair and also literally impossible.

One of the reasons Jack instantly attaches to Dean like a baby duck in season 13 despite Dean's cold, grief-stricken exterior while Sam is standing right there being "supportive" (besides Sam's poorly-concealed ulterior motives) is that Jack implicitly understands that Dean, whether he wants to be or not, is the Winchester family house. In order to ever feel like you belong in that house—like you are in that family—Dean has to love you. Fans also understand this whether they know they do or not. They know it doesn't matter if Sam says "You're family". If Dean doesn't say it—if Dean doesn't feel it—it will never feel real. Because of this, fans feel an entitlement for Dean to bestow instant love and forgiveness on their faves in a way they would never ask that of Sam or Cas... and they also perceive Dean as aware of his unique role and often perceive him as using it to control others or make the family a dictatorship... when Dean is literally just being a normal human being with boundaries and feelings, who did not choose to be perceived in this way, and whose feelings do not simply stop existing just because of this unfair perception of him and how everyone else is tying their self-esteem to him in ways Dean has zero control over... and their needs do not trump Dean's right to boundaries and feelings as just a guy—as just a human being!

#dean the narrative heart #the hearth of the house #the very touch of you corrupts #mail #dont feed the stans after midnight #parentification

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cinnamondumbb · 1 year

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ੈ✦ ⿻ 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐔𝐏 —𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 : after a clash with the rda, you are left with a wounded neteyam to care for.

contents. a scenario? drabble? imagine? i really don't know what to call this lol comforting, bit of angst, fluff + gn! omaticaya reader

notes. my first ever piece on neteyam ! i had sm fun writing this ^^ i already have two more neteyam pieces on my drafts :) i hope you like it!

in which you try to not let your emotions affect your duties as a healer tending to neteyam's wounds .

where neteyam is terrified of the idea that he might have disappointed you after he makes a mistake .

being a healer — even if only in training — meant that serving your people would always come first, so it was crucial that you never let your emotions cloud your best judgement, and you took that assignment very seriously. however, you would be lying if you said that following reason was not getting more and more difficult, as your feelings for a certain member of your tribe only grew stronger.

you tried with all your might to keep yourself from crumbling as you watched toruk makto carry neteyam's body covered in blood and scratches into the omaticayan's hideout in the hallelujah mountains. which proved itself to be a task close to impossible. still, your spirit did not yield. you needed to remain calm and act rationally.

your duty to your people came first.

you rushed to the gathering in the entrance of the camp, promptly offering your services to mo'at. you wanted to help in any way you possibly could. alas, mo'at decided that she and the others could take care of the gravely wounded and entrusted neteyam's care to you, her apprentice and neteyam's close childhood friend.

that is how you found yourself alone with neteyam, sitting across from each other on the floor of your small tent, patching him up. this boy you knew your whole life, your best friend.

neteyam kept his head down as you gently rubbed a damp cloth on his recent injuries, his braids hiding his features completely so you could not read his expression. he was too afraid to meet your gaze. he feared you might despise him now, that maybe he had crossed a line and that it had cost any high regards you once held for him. he knew how deeply you valued your duties, and he had just gone against his, it did not matter the reason. he had brought dishonour upon himself. after all, it was his choice to put himself in danger and now you were the one who had to deal with it. resigned, he could only stare at the tapestries that adorned the floor and let you continue your work.

"i am sorry," said neteyam, much like a plead.

you did not answer, not out of spite, you just did not know what to say.

you had not spoken a word to neteyam since he got back from his mission— in which he was only supposed to participate as a lookout along with lo'ak. instead, he ended up going against his father's direct orders and taking part in the fight, nearly getting himself killed.

he grimaced at your touch, the medicine you were applying in his wounds stung more than he had anticipated, leaving a tingly sensation on his skin. yet, it did not hurt as much as when he finally lifted his gaze at you, taking in the look on your face.

it was only then that neteyam noticed the tears rolling down your cheeks.

"please, don't cry, i am so sorry," said neteyam, quickly standing on his knees to get closer to you. he was confused, why in the world were you crying? he expected you to be angry or disappointed in him, but this was a reaction he did not predict. neteyam tucked a few stray braids behind your ear then cupped you cheek. "i cannot stand to see you cry."

"what you did was so stupid!" you spat as neteyam wiped your tears away.

"i know, i am sorry. i disobeyed orders and have disgraced myself. i– i just hope you can forgive me."

"what?" neteyam took himself too seriously at times, it was something you frequently teased him about, but this was insane. "what are you talking about, neteyam?"

"that i failed to follow-through with my responsibilities–"

"i do not care for any of that, especially not when you could have been killed!"

neteyam's expression was one of sheer confusion.

"wait, does that mean you are not– disappointed in me?"

"oh neteyam." you took his face between your hands, resting your forehead against his. "i could never be disappointed in you."

you leaned away for the briefest of seconds only to place kiss on top of his brow, before he pulled you into his arms again, squeezing you tightly, as if he was afraid you would simply slip away if he loosened his grip.

"i see you." neteyam whispered softly, his breath brushed against your lips, sending chills through your whole body.

"i see you."

#— ᵕ̈♡ lua writes🧁#ੈ☆ — (avatar) 📓#avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #atwow spoilers #atwow fanfiction #avatar fluff #avatar fanfiction #avatar fandom #neteyam sully #neteyam x you #neteyam #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan

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greenhappyseed · 8 months

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Anyone interested in some fic recs? Here’s a few ones I recently read and am enjoying — I prefer long, slow burn stories heavy on characterization/character study with adult protagonists, so that’s what’s on the list! As always, check the ratings and mind the tags; almost all are M for themes/language and a few have E chapters. This list is not exhaustive, and doesn’t include many older works, so if you have q’s or want more recs, ask away!

EraserMight

Blood Orange by @flyingjemsaucer is my happy place right now (the author has other lovely EraserMight fics too). It’s a wonderful AU with orange farmer/vendor Toshinori and teacher Aizawa. This one is interesting and different because Toshinori is un-injured and Aizawa has his post-PLF disabilities. As a bonus, this fic also has great DadMight and Dadzawa, with David Shield and married Mic/Midnight as the best friends of the lead pair.

Closed Fist and Bleeding Heart by MoonlightAndDust (who I believe also wrote this AU twitfic). Just all around good, canon universe, angsty EraserMight.

EraserMic

Nine Lives by machiroads (also check out the author’s Naruhata Noir, which ties in to Vigilantes lore). This one is set during Aizawa’s canon post-war hospital stay and features a super fun Mirko, snarky little shithead [affectionate] Shinso, and good OCs. Honestly, the EraserMic romance is just one part of the story, and that’s fine because it’s full of other things.

And When It All Goes to Hell by @purekesseltrash (also check out the author’s Rooftop Necromancy series for a band AU). Both of these fics are examples of an author’s other hobbies/interests making the fic truly special. This one is a hockey AU and it’s great! Filled with lots of cool details, it cuts between the teenage rooftop trio and the adult Hizashi and Shouta reuniting after 10+ years to figure their shit out. Knowing some hockey stuff helps, but isn’t required at all — the drama is still there! And if you want to read about 1A students in this hockey AU, then you’re in luck because the author has that too (though I have yet to read it myself only because I prefer adult protagonists).

ToshInko

Naive Melody by @aconstantstateofbladerunner. I also like many of the author’s other works including For Kurou and Dekugate, but I think this one deserves more attention for its terrifying premise and action sequences. It keeps the core “hero society” concept from MHA and then goes and does its own thing. Also, I love the Talking Heads references — you KNOW how I get with my 80s new wave music!

Bones of You by @thoughtfulraven. A really sweet story set in the canon universe, with BFFs Inko and Mitsuki and a closer look at Toshinori’s mental state.

Nighteye/All Might

Happiness by @puddinginthemix made me like Nighteye, and that’s a feat. Set in the canon universe with canon events…I’ll just say this one made me tear up a bit.

DadMight and gen All Might

Living Well by @krisingtons is super sweet. If you want some DadMight fluff, this is where you go. (I also happen to really like the Quirk Development Theories series, especially the OC that pairs off with Inko in one of the later stories because they all work together so well to support Izuku).

Learning to Trust by @siriusfan13, a longtime favorite. Not only is this a fantastic look at All Might in the year before he agreed to work at UA, but the author links some amazing DadMight/genMight fic recs at the end of (most) chapters.

Kacchako & also Hawks (WhaaAAaa????)

Toy Soldiers by AJLenoire is a bit of a wild card on this list, but it’s really well-written. The multiple subplots within the Kacchako plot and the Hawks/OC plot are all fun, and the Hawks/OC relationship is a blast.

#fic recs #mha fic rec #bnha fic recs #EraserMight #eraserMic #toshinko #dadmight #kacchako

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y-rhywbeth2 · 21 days

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Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

#No I am not done obsessing over the Children of Bhaal: I just love these poor fucks ok #(I have an hour or two's spare time will I use it on anything important? No I'll babble about a decades old game and then get back to work)#This has been Original Baldurs Gate Propaganda Hours #Also don't hire any sex workers in Saradush: they only want to eat your blood #bg2 spoilers #babbling #long post #/durge #/charname

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williamrikers · 10 months

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some incoherent thoughts about THE queer rights scene of 2023

i love that in this episode, kawi had to confront his latent fears about being part of the queer community. notably, we can see his face on "queer people do not have the same rights that straight people do". if he wants to act on his feelings for pisaeng, this is the reality he will have to accept--and this is the reality he has been trying to avoid for A LOT of years at this point.

he spent so much time trying to make fetch happen, conform to society's standards by step 1: romancing a beautiful woman, step 2: ???, step 3: profit. however, even when he did manage to romance pear, he failed to go through with the other ""normal"" heterosexual milestones: he refused to marry her, refused to start a family with her, both of which she explicitly asked him for. kawi never outright says this but i would like to think that the reason he doesn't is because deep down he does not want those milestones for himself. the original plan before he started time traveling was "make pear fall in love with me". the plan never went any further than that. apparently, once she was in love with him, kawi then didn't really know what to do with her.

because all that time, kawi had been deluding himself. had been hiding from the truth of himself because the truth was scary and painful, not just on a personal level but in a "if i admit this about myself, my rights might be taken away, my humanity might be questioned" way. and in this scene, kawi had to confront that. had to be told, yes, this is the risk you are taking. and kawi decided that for pisaeng, that risk is worth it.

one of kawi's main flaws that he's been struggling to overcome is his tendency to run away. max called him out on this a few episodes ago, and the whole story even starts with kawi running from the bleak reality of his lonely life by escaping into his own past.

kawi, pisaeng and max all have storylines about not running away, about choosing to stay and fight: for pisaeng and max, that choice is mostly geographical, but for kawi, that choice is spiritual. he has to choose to stay by pisaeng's side and fight for him. he has to choose to be honest and upfront about his feelings. he has to choose to live his life in the present and taking on the challenges life throws at him without running away from them.

interestingly, in this episode where he truly starts to embrace that, the episode opens on his father finally and irrevocably dying. some things can't be changed even through magical time travel. some things kawi has to face, no matter how hard he tries to run away from them. (and yes, i am extremely smug about having predicted this correctly.)

not gonna lie, "love for your body, your soul, or even love for someone else" changed me on the molecular level. queerness as love for our bodies and our souls, man, that just hit me today, especially because i honestly Do Not love my body. i can't bear to look at myself most days. but recontextualizing that desire to change myself into a shape i will be more comfortable in as love... i think this show somehow gave me therapy today?? idk i'm very incoherent about this but man. this is going to stay with me for the rest of my life.

GOD, my man kawi is so scared. SO SO SO scared. always has been. and him having to confront that along with everything else he's had to confront is just so beautiful. he has to embrace the fear if he wants his life to be better. there's no magical button that's going to take the fear away (ironic, on the show with the magical time traveling device), he has to confront it and power through it, and we see him do just that in the confession scene.

that confession. jesus, kawi is TERRIFIED. he tries to tell pisaeng like three times and can't do it every time, up until pisaeng threatens to leave again and kawi is like. no. not having pisaeng in my life is even worse than telling him the truth, and it just breaks out of him. that confession scene is just utterly brilliant on so many levels, because at this point, kawi has learned to speak gracefully and with purpose, and he does that, but it is so clear that he's also deeply afraid. and pisaeng teasing him about it by letting him believe for a moment that he won't go out with kawi... these two deserve each other. they're both idiots. why am i crying.

everything in this show has been about growth from the start: pisaeng going from marrying a woman he knew he could never love to outright saying "i'm gay" to his homophobic mother, kawi going from being a cringefail anti-social shut-in to someone who can speak and listen gracefully and with humility (when he tries). and those journeys weren't easy! we saw kawi struggling for eight whole episodes to become a kinder, more sociable person. we saw pisaeng literally flee the gay club the first time he went there.

because love isn't just about feelings for someone else. (max actually mentions those last.) love is, first and foremost, love for ourselves, for our bodies and our souls. and, as max says:

this show is a love story, but more importantly, it is a story of growth. of kawi and pisaeng loving themselves enough to embrace the fear and the uncertainty and daring to love themselves and each other, daring to live their truth. daring to grow and change and embrace these changes. and some of those changes they go through stem from their love for each other, while others deepen their love for each other (personally, i think we'll see more of the latter in the upcoming episodes).

pisaeng loved kawi from the very start. he loved him as he was: a shy, awkward loner. in pisaeng's opinion, there was nothing wrong with kawi, no reason not to love him. however, they can only love each other after kawi makes the effort to change himself, makes the effort to "become a better man", as the lyrics of the theme song would have it. because that shy, awkward loner could never stand in front of tall, gorgeous pisaeng and tell him with emotional honesty and complete certainty that he likes him and wants to go out with him. and a relationship can only work if both parties are equally invested in it.

#be my favorite #be my favorite the series #*mine #long post #i love this show a normal amount i swear (lying)

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heyclickadee · 6 months

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Saw another “why would Tech even be interested in Phee” take out in the wild, so here’s a partial list of Phee’s many attractive qualities, because the double standard of every other character vs Phee is exhausting:

(Quick disclaimer—this isn’t me saying anyone has to like the ship. You don’t. It’s fine. Don’t ship things you don’t want to ship. Dislike the way it’s been written in the show if you want. Ship these two with other people or with no one if you want. I don’t care. This is just me being tired of people being weird about Phee):

1. She’s smart. She can improv her way through dealing with death traps and she’s got an area (areas) of expertise that Tech knows relatively little about. That makes her interesting. Also hot.

2. She’s gorgeous. Look at her. She’s ridiculously pretty.

3. She’s a great storyteller. Yeah, she changes her stories every time, but that’s at least part of why Tech is paying attention, because he notices that.

4. She’s a stone cold badass. And she’s a FUN stone cold badass. Disarmingly charming stone cold badass.

5. She’s a remarkably good person. She steals artifacts so that refugees can hang on to a bit of their culture in diaspora. This seems to be what pushes Tech from, “Oh, she’s interesting,” to, “OH. SHE’S BRILLIANT AND I MIGHT BE IN LOVE.”

6. She’s not nice, but she is kind, and that’s honestly a quality that she and Tech share. Phee isn’t soft, she’s not going to talk in therapy speak, she’ll push a little hard sometimes, but gosh darnit if she isn’t the person who would always stop to help someone with a flat tire (or respond to finding out some friends are broke, jobless, and on the run by immediately taking them back to her secret refuge so they can rest and recoup).

7. She’s incredibly direct and unafraid to speak her mind and…okay. This is going to get long. And I know some people will disagree with this, and that’s fine because everyone is different, and wants different things. But. Speaking personally from my point of view. The fact that Phee gives as good as she gets would be a really reassuring quality to have in a partner. I see a lot of myself reflected in Tech, but one of the many, many ways in which we’re very different is that I’m a consummate people pleaser, and Tech is very much not. At all. I don’t think he has a people-pleasing bone in his body.

But, here’s the thing—about half of my people pleasing comes from being terrified that I’ll say or do something that inadvertently hurts someone, and that person won’t just tell me or give me the chance to explain or make things right. And for how that relates to dating, I had people—friends and family—keep trying to set me up with incredibly shy men through most of my early twenties, no matter how many times I objected, because they had this perception that I was soft, wishy-washy, and needed to be treated with kid gloves. And…no. I’m opinionated as hell. I’m relatively confident about certain things. I just shut down my ability to project any of that because I was terrified of running roughshod over people without meaning to. But when I’m around someone who I know is willing to disagree with me, who I know will explain why, and who I know will push back if I take something too far? About 90% percent of my people pleasing and social anxiety evaporates. I know I don’t have to walk on eggshells around them—and that they aren’t going to walk on eggshells around me, either. They’re going to be direct about their issues and treat me like a freaking adult.

And, honestly, the fact that Phee doesn’t walk on eggshells around Tech (who also gives as good as he gets—Tech isn’t soft, nice, or shy and retiring; he’s confident as hell and he should be, because hot damn)—is. I don’t know. I like that she’s direct, and that she will recognize and pull back if she’s gone too far. This is projecting a bit, but, speaking personally, I would rather be with someone who treats me like an adult and tells me what’s up even if it’s uncomfortable than someone who never, ever tells me when they’re upset because they’re afraid of hurting my feelings and just lets me stew in social confusion all the time.

8. She can more than hold her own in a fight and she carries a sword around. That’s hot, I’m sorry.

9. Phee’s fantastic with Omega. She talks to her like she’s a person, she doesn’t ever shut Omega down, she’ll tell her stories, she’ll joke around with her, and she’s generally very respectful while also not holding her to the same standard she would if Omega were an adult. She’s even a little protective of Omega, even though Omega isn’t at all her responsibility. I think the moment that took Phee from ‘cool’ to ‘fantastic’ for me was towards the end of ‘Entombed’ while the Deadly Giraffe of Death was collapsing; Phee’s right there trying to shield Omega alongside Hunter. And. Like. Omega is Tech’s baby sister, he’s probably going to notice that how Phee treats her. Massive points in her favor for this.

#techphee #I’m tired okay

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mulderscully · 8 months

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been thinking about some peoples complaints about how the movie handled alex's coming out as opposed to the book.

part of me understands because the movie did sort of neuter this as well as the depth of henry's mental illness, but at the same time i understand why. the movie is already two hours long and tbh if they wanted to do a fully faithful adaptation (which imo is not necessary) it maybe should've been a mini series.

and aside from taking out liam, tbh i still think that all happened just wasn't shown, and the fact that this is why alex has always known he's "lowkey into dudes" i feel like people don't fully grasp what alex goes through in that time after new years in the movie.

not every bisexual person has the same experience, but i can relate to alex pretty well both in the book and in the movie in terms of his sexuality cause they actually are pretty similar.

a lot of times when you're bisexual you just feel like everyone feels this way. you sort of feel like being straight is what being bisexual is, because the idea that others do not experience attraction to the same and different genders sounds... fake. like. i'm not even joking when i say i have a hard time believing straight people exist. i fully, of course, believe gay people exist, but people being straight and not queer at all makes me ??? sometimes, even now that i have identified as bi for over ten years.

then, there is a pretty big difference between knowing you experience same gender attraction from time to time and actively identifying as a bisexual person, as a queer person, a member of the lgbtq community.

bisexuals, to this day, are made to feel like we do not belong by both heterosexual people and our own community (which is why ellen telling alex the b in lgbtq is not a silent letter realllly matters) so sometimes you really do just shut out that part of yourself and choose to see yourself as straight because it's not worth fighting all the biphobia that you face, but it's still a part of you that you are shutting out and repressing, which is what alex was doing with henry the entire time and where his alleged dislike of him comes from in the first place. henry hates how much he loves alex so he's mean to him, alex doesn't understand why henry is mean to him because he wants henry to like him because he ALSO has feelings for him and those things clash.

during the time that henry ghosts him alex has time to evaluate himself, his feelings and his identity. he has the time to say "this is not something that i am going to ignore about myself anymore" and it may not be as magnified as it is for henry because they're in different positions in terms of support systems, it's still powerful.

when he comes out to henry, you can tell he is getting used to thinking of himself as bisexual but you can also tell that he is nervous to say the word, because telling someone you're bi is ALWAYS terrifying because you don't know what they might say to it. on top of that, you can feel that it is important to him to say it, to tell henry who he is now that he understands it.

being bisexual and identifying that way, and that being part of who you are and carrying it in your heart is a different thing than being like "yeah, whatever i'll make out with someone at a party" even if the latter is still a valid way to be queer. and sometimes you just look back and realize that [x] experience was NEVER straight.

and the best part of the movie to me is henry's complete acceptance of this. henry never ever questions alex's attraction to him, he never questions if alex will be able to stay committed to him, if he will leave him for a woman, if he's confused, or any of the things that STILL happen in media with bisexual characters as leads and as a bisexual person that has been one of the most freeing things to watch.

so yes, alex's bisexuality is still very important and handled as such in the film, in my personal bisexual opinion.

#rwrb #alex claremont diaz #firstprince #red white and royal blue #i feel like if liam had been in the movie it would've distracted some ppl from firstprince too ngl #i know how fandoms work lol #and this movie is a love story abt two characters not some love triangle

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